Page 30

Chapter Eighteen

Days passed as Wren hammered and twisted the gold into thin ribbons. Cylo tried not to disrupt her, so he came and went, checking in on her. Sometimes, like now, he’d sort through his correspondence on his tablet, using a crate as his perch. The regular tap-tap-tap of her tools soothed him.

“I can sense you,” Wren said, snatching Cylo from his reading.

Since she’d taken up his advice, spending her days in the shuttle bay, she’d stopped using her door. Or so she’d told him one afternoon over what she’d called ‘tea.’ That decision had meant he needed to be on his guard again. If it meant she didn’t suffer, he’d gladly bear the pain and discomfort.

“I was wondering where you were,” Lady Violet said, offering a smile as she ventured deeper into the bay.

Wren whipped up her head, her face strained. “Cylo was kind to help keep me sane.” Her expression softened, and she tossed a wink at him.

Not that he knew what it meant, but the aches it summoned made him squirm. Her cheeks darkened to a soft purple, her skin having almost lost that hue completely.

Lady Violet flicked aside a gray curl. “Durok mentioned the chemicals had an adverse effect on you. I was worried—”

“Or curious?” Wren smirked.

“That, too.” Lady Violet chuckled. ‘After all, how many lilac-skinned women do I know who are also jewelry-makers?”

Cylo almost snorted at Lady Violet’s hope of seeing what Wren was working on.

Every time he’d tried to peek, she’d swept a cloth over the workbench.

When she’d first done so, it had stung—the pain hitting him in the chest like the slap of a dagger’s blade.

She’d clasped his forearm, peered into his eyes, and said, “It’s a surprise. I’m not hiding it to hurt you.”

Which meant he had to be patient.

As an operative, doing so was something he could endure.

And in the meantime, he could master controlling his emotions.

She didn’t need to know how many hours he’d spent remembering the way her black garment had clung to her body.

Or how he’d longed to press a kiss to the underside of her knee.

After he banished those memories, he found himself admiring the curve of her cheek or how she chewed on her bottom lip when she was in deep concentration.

Her mutterings were amusing though he doubted she knew she was doing it.

His O.D.I. buzzed. He dragged his gaze away. The Nahatyr was less than a day away. Joy warred with sadness; his time with Wren was ending. Worse, he was nowhere closer to finding out if she could be his Dar Eth.

“You’re so talented,” Lady Violet was saying.

“More like a reason to keep my mind and fingers busy.”

“True.” On a sigh, Lady Violet’s shoulders slumped. “When Durok’s on shift, I’m bored as hell.”

“Oh?” Wren faced her. “What did you do before this…adventure?”

Lady Violet gasped. “I…never thought that was possible.”

Wren grinned. “Look at this. Cylo ordered all my tools from the replicator.”

“You can do that?” Lady Violet threw back her head and laughed. “Please, excuse me.” She hurried out of the bay, calling, “Durok, honey.”

Wren chuckled and continued to tap-tap-tap.

The way her hair tumbled down to hide her face fascinated Cylo. He drew in a shuddering breath and willed himself to focus on his tablet and the research he’d found on ancient Hatimaye techniques.

“Cylo?” Her rasping voice so near snapped his chin up. She stood beside him. How had she done so without him hearing her approach?

He frowned. “What is it, ensa?”

She pinched the tablet and slid it out of his hands, placing it on the crate beside him. A smile formed as she ran her hand up his chest armor. At the collar, she dug her fingers between the fabric and his skin, drawing a hiss from him. With a yank, she pulled him toward her.

Her mouth across his caught him off guard. The taste of her hit him like a hammer to his solar plexus. He grasped her at the elbows and drew her closer, then glided his hands up to her shoulders. Warm skin filled his palms, and her scent enticed him to sink into her.

She slipped her tongue in to meet his. A groan escaped him. His heart thundered against the barrier of his ribs. She broke away but didn’t leave him. Instead, she brushed her wet lips down his neck.

“Maker,” he whispered as a shudder raced through his taut body. His eyes burned. Squeezing them shut only summoned sensual images of her, things he dreamed of doing to her…with her.

She moaned and climbed onto his lap to settle her backside across his malehood while facing him. Madness had him in its grip, and he looped an arm around her waist to crush her against him.

“Kisses only,” she mumbled, her hot breath fanning his skin.

“I want them, as many as you can spare.” She rose onto her knees on either side of his hips.

Cupping his cheeks, she peered into his eyes.

“So beautiful, Cylo.” Then she placed a kiss on each eyelid, her lips so soft, sweet, that he wouldn’t have been able to stop her had he wanted to.

“Minus susa…” He splayed his fingers between her shoulder blades and pressed her to him, wanting to experience her unbound breasts against his bare chest. Images flashed, so real, he could almost believe they were memories: a puckered nipple, the weight of a breast, the silkiness of her skin, and the salty tang of sweat clinging to her cleavage.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” she said while kissing her way along his jaw.

He chuckled. “I eat the evening meal with you every night.”

“No.” She leaned back to gaze at him. “Like a date.”

“Date?” The O.D.I. hurried to inform him, sharing images of a fruit or a couple in candlelight. As in romantic? “Yes,” he growled.

Her smile crawled across her plump lips. He stared into her eyes, mesmerized by the steel gray so reminiscent of polished Maloidian. He touched her cheek to hold her still.

“Ensa, your eyes… What color were they?”

She angled her head to nuzzle his palm, sparking a mini explosion in his core. “Brown-green, why?”

“They are gray.”

She froze, her enticing mouth gaped, then she asked, “Is that bad?”

He chuckled. “Good that they are no longer changing. Good that they are a remarkable steel-gray.”

“Bad that I’m still purple.” She rested her temple on his chin, shifting out of his touch to do so.

“Perhaps that genetic marker has not stabilized.” Maker, please let that be so . Normalcy would make her happy. He didn’t care what color she ended up being. As long as he could call her his.

She clambered off him, sliding her body across parts of him that would forever remember the brief frisson of heat she’d summoned. “I’ll get Qaff to check. Dinner, tonight. Dress…” She ran her gaze over his armor. “Nice.”

He stared after her disappearing back, the air in the shuttle bay a little colder without her presence.

What had she meant by ‘nice?’ He only wore his sleep pants or armor.

Was the latter not— Ah, yes, the man in the O.D.I.

image had worn strange garments: a white tunic, deep-gray coat, over pants like her blue leggings.

He’d browse the human section of the replicator for something suitable.

Excitement sparked to life in his chest. A date with the woman he couldn’t help and couldn’t resist. Why she’d kissed him he’d ask her this evening. They’d managed to keep things…platonic these past few days.

It helped that she’d moved into the viewing deck, as Iddan had advised. No longer was she next door to his quarters—the temptation alone had almost killed him. The suggestion for her to sleep above the comm had eradicated the shadows under her eyes.

Her well-being mattered—had since he’d met her. Maker, if he was being honest, before he’d left the Gladio for Yithia. Then it hadn’t been her specifically, but now…

He sucked in a steady breath, willing his arousal to calm. She had such a hold on him. It had to be the Ethera.

Around his thoughts went. He slumped then forced himself to straighten. Patience.

When he strode through the common, only Qaff was there, seated at the table with a plate of kreso before him.

Cylo headed to the replicator, intent on ordering what was needed for this ‘date.’ He flipped through the options under human garments.

The blue leggings were easy to find… Jeans was what they were called.

Next was the tunic—a long-sleeved button-up shirt with a collar. He grunted and ordered it in his size.

“What are you doing?” Qaff asked, sliding his empty plate into the waste disposal.

“I have a date with Wren this evening. She told me to dress…better.” He flicked a dismissive hand at himself.

Qaff chuckled. “You could wear your ceremonial armor.”

Cylo blinked then laughed. “My normal armor with a cloak?”

Qaff rubbed his chin. “True. What else do you need?” He squeezed beside Cylo to browse the jackets on offer. “Whoa, why do they have so many?” He scrolled through. “I like this one. It looks similar to what the O.D.I. showed me, and it is almost as long as a cloak.”

Cylo selected the overcoat in deep blue but chose the dark gray option. “My thanks,” he said, with the garments stacked in his hands.

“Where is your date going to happen?” Qaff swept out an arm, encompassing the common and medical.

Cylo grimaced. Here meant no privacy. “We are meeting in the common, but perhaps, somewhere else would be preferable. I shall research.”

“Wise,” he said and left Cylo to his own devices.

Taking control of this date might be a good idea.

Especially after her kiss. He didn’t want to share her or suffer through distractions.

He dumped the garments onto his bed and sank onto a chair to activate his O.D.I.

A quick search revealed too many choices.

A picnic offered the best privacy. Except, the viewing deck wasn’t available. Which left the shuttle bay.

He hummed. Could he make that work? Perhaps many blankets to soften the floor? He deactivated the security cams, not wanting them to be recorded.